Suspended In A Bubble Of Hiraeth

can I feel everything at once?

it is how I feel when I see you, my beloved—

grappling violently between

the edge of euphoria

and the pit of despair.

EVERY TIME I LOOK BACK, MY CHILDHOOD GROWS HORNS; ON AGING.

lorde // iasoup on tumblr // alain de botton // jenny slate // katie maria // silas denver melvin // chelsea wolfe

something is rotting.

the smell pervades the house, wafting through the halls, seeping under the doorframes.

it’s subtle at first. easy to ignore. i turn on a fan and soon enough I’ve gone noseblind.

it’s been three days. I found a little mouse dead on the floor. it’s small. too small.

the smell gets worse. the fan is on all the time now. I put perfume under my nose to block it out. eventually, I grow numb.

a week. there is no escaping it. I have looked everywhere. it has stained all my clothes. It is here, somewhere, the source of it.

it has been months. I cannot leave. I am weak. it affects me constantly.

something is rotting.

it is me. it has always been me.

surrounded by a kaleidoscopic miasma

of dead things and broken dreams

rotting lies and bandages

slathered with nitroglycerin

oh, my love,

let us burn down the world together

and as we stand on the precipice of the ashes,

may we burn down with it

Roses, Vincent Van Gogh, 1889

it is slowly getting brighter outside.

the horror clawing at me as my eyes snap open,

terrified of images that are intangible

and cannot harm me any longer.

it is slowly getting brighter outside.

i have crawled so far on my own without you

that i am starting to think i can stand.

red wine drips from lips

like blood and

god knows it’ll never

be enough and

each hit burns like

it’s the first

you think you just might

die of thirst and

dorian, you’re gonna die

but pretty darling,

so am I

so you and I,

we’ll go down together

you’ll destroy yourself

and I’ll haunt you forever

nothing left to say but

beauty does not stay and

paint it fades and dries and

time it always flies

-despite everything, there is still love

@arthoesunshine/ @artsheila/ @daisies-on-a-cup/ @gayarsonist / @hjarta/ @yunawinter on twitter/ @bakwaaas/ @death-born-aphrodite/ anon on gentleearth/ @classicnymph on twitter

the screaming that bounces around the inside of my skull is back to grace me with its presence. guttural and keening and feral.

i take another sip from my soda can and pretend i do not hear it, because to let it out into the world, where it would transform from visceral agony to banal noise, would be worse than enduring it silently. at least this way i can still feel it. at least this way no one else has to.